On My Way to Believing
by absumoaevum
Summary: On Hermione's wedding day, her past finally catches up to her. Based on "The Only Exception" by Paramore. This is a one-shot sequel to another story I'm currently writing. *COMPLETE*


**Disclaimer: ****_Harry Potter_**** is property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros Entertainment Inc. This story is not written for profit and no copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: **A special thank you to dumblysbeard over on Tumblr for betaing this piece. This is her debut as a beta, and I think she's done an awesome job!

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><p><strong>On My Way to Believing<strong>

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><p>Hermione Granger. These were the last few minutes she would be a Granger.<p>

She'd always thought that the surname Granger had suited her perfectly. She thought about all the times in school a professor had called her "Granger," all the mentions of "Miss Granger" in the Daily Prophet after the war. Know-it-all Granger. Bossy Granger. International war heroine Granger. Her name seemed to fit. It was a good name. Lived-in. Straightforward.

But now she would be a Weasley. After all those years of waiting for Ron to realise she was a girl, to realise that he loved her. They were perfect for each other. They belonged together.

Ron and Hermione were as perfect a fit as Harry and Ginny, and hadn't Ginny waited for six years for Harry to cotton on? This is the way it is supposed to be. Now everyone would live happily ever after. They would grow old together and have brilliant careers and children and grandchildren. Everything according to plan.

Hermione smiled and grabbed her wand from the vanity. Silently she recited the charm that put just the right finishing touches on her hair. Her brown locks were not straight exactly, but flowing and contained in a loose, elegant bun. She patted on lip gloss and pinched her cheeks.

The woman staring back at her in the mirror was getting married today. It didn't feel real.

"Hermione, how are things going?" Ginny asked through the door.

Hermione stood up and started searching for her shoes. "Almost done," she said distractedly. Her dress was all billowing white lace and tulle, and she struggled not to catch it on the furniture in the cramped room. "You can just wait for me outside if you want, Ginny. It's so hot in here!"

"Thanks! I just wanted to tell you that the guests have started to arrive."

"Anyone good?"

"Well, Kingsley's early as usual. Hagrid. Some cousins of ours, too. I'll come back and get you when it's time."

"Great!" Hermione heard Ginny's high heels tap down the tiled hallway. It really was hot. They had apparently never bothered with muggle air conditioning. Then again, it was hardly ever so hot in England.

Crouching down, Hermione checked under a chair for her shoes. She was normally so organised, everything in its proper place, but today she felt as though she'd left her brain back in her bed. Where had she put them?

"Looking for these?" came a voice from behind her.

Hermione stood up so fast that she nearly swooned and whirled around to face Draco Malfoy holding her shoes by the straps and wearing a cocky little smirk. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she snapped, snatching her shoes out of his hand.

"I was invited." He produced an invitation. "I suspect the whole of the Department got one of these."

"I think, in your case, it was more of a courtesy," hissed Hermione. "Can you please go? Just go. You can't be in here."

"Why? I'm not the groom." Draco eased back to lean on the vanity, which creaked ominously. "I'm just a well-wisher." He tucked the invitation back into his robes.

A well-wisher. Hermione frowned. "You can wish me well at the reception. Now, please go. I want to be alone." Plopping down on the chair furthest from the vanity, Hermione began trying to lift all the many layers of her dress to get to her feet with little success.

"Need some help?"

Hermione looked up to see Draco watching her. "No, I don't need your help." Deciding to just ignore him, she continued scrunching fabric until she finally uncovered her toes. She slid her feet into the sensible but strappy heels. Now she would be eye-level with him, at least. She'd finished adjusting the clasps. Now what? She rested her elbows on her knees and let the fabric fall back over her feet. No one would even see the shoes. Draco hadn't left, but Hermione refused to meet his eye.

There was a pause, then, "You know, if you wanted to be alone, marriage is rather a poor choice. I can tell you that solitude is a thing seldom attained after matrimony."

Hermione hated that he was just staring at her like that. She could feel his grey eyes roaming over her hair, her dress, her skin. Like a blast of cool air in this stifling heat.

She'd had enough. Standing abruptly, she walked right up to him with the intention of shooing him from the room, but tripped over her dress and fell forward. Deftly, he caught her up in his arms.

And there was a moment. One tiny moment. Longer than was necessary. He held her in that moment with her cheek against his shoulder and her balance suspended. She felt his fingers tighten against the bare skin of her arms.

But then it was over. He had helped her right herself, and now she stood in front of him feeling ridiculous. Frustration boiled up inside of her, possibly even more than normally would have given the tension of the situation. Maybe it was to hide, to shunt aside, that tiny moment from her thoughts.

"Get out," she said with all the malice she could muster.

His smile was gone. He looked at her earnestly, with passion storming in his eyes. "Don't marry him," Draco whispered.

"I—"

"Don't do it, Hermione." His fingers twitched. She knew they ached to hold her again. She knew because she wanted it too.

Hermione dragged herself away from such thoughts. She was marrying Ron Weasley today. That was the decision they'd made so many years ago, their final decision. It was too late to turn back now.

"Hermione. Don't," Draco said again.

He was just standing there staring at her. She wished he'd do anything, anything but just stand there gazing at her with wide, pleading eyes. His hair was a little disheveled. Hermione unconsciously tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

He should go away. She didn't think she should have to put up with this on her wedding day. Hadn't he made up his mind at the end of her seventh year at Hogwarts? Hadn't he told her that they could never be together?

"You're a little late, aren't you?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question. They both knew the answer.

"It's never too late," said Draco. There it was. It was an invitation. This was the perfect discussion to have in the minutes preceding her wedding. Hermione licked her lips and stared at the floor. She couldn't think of any way to stall for time to think, and the silence was crowding in around her, uncomfortably close.

She cracked. It was the same argument over again. Always the same. "You said you couldn't be in love with me," she blurted. "You said you didn't believe in love."

"You are the only exception."

The perfect thing to say. Why did he always know the perfect thing to say? But Hermione couldn't be distracted. Even though he hadn't moved, hadn't taken her in his arms or kissed her, this was wrong. This was absolutely wrong. She shouldn't be talking to him alone like this. He shouldn't be here, not now. Yet she didn't know how to even begin to make him leave.

"I wish I could believe that," she said, hoping he would be hurt and go.

"You do believe it," he said. He wasn't taking the bait. Hermione, still looking anywhere but at Draco, watched his shoes as he took a step toward her. His robes swept the ground when he moved. He was so graceful. Ron was never graceful like him. She felt a stab of guilt for comparing them. In truth, there was no comparison.

But then Draco was standing right in front of her, and he had taken her hand and she had gotten to her feet and they were so close... "You have to believe it," Draco whispered. He leaned in to her, and their eyes met. Their noses were nearly touching. She could smell his cologne, feel his breath against her lips. Why wasn't she stopping him?

There was a light knock at the door. "Hermione?" It was Ginny. Hermione had never been so happy to hear Ginny's voice. Only the tiniest part of her, the part that lived in that moment, that other world, was disappointed when Draco back away to a respectful distance.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Y-yes?"

"It's time! Get out here!"

"I'll be right there," Hermione called to Ginny. She turned to Draco. "You had better go find a seat." She smoothed the front of her dress and tucked her hair nervously behind her ears again. Draco was standing between her and the door.

"I don't intend to actually watch you go through with this," he said.

"Then leave," said Hermione simply, and she brushed past him, grabbing her wand from the vanity on her way to the door.

Her hand was on the doorknob when she felt his touch on her arm. She stopped. Pity and fear and heartsick made her look back. He held her gaze in his own. "Come with me."

"No."

Draco regarded her sadly, though with a hint of defiance that disarmed her. He still had a glimmer of hope. "I am going to the Leaky Cauldron to get a celebratory firewhiskey."

"'Celebratory'?"

"Yeah, to celebrate you leaving Weasley once and for all. I'll see you there." He turned on the spot and was gone.

Hermione mentally shook herself, taking a few well-measured breaths, then opened the door. The hallway was deserted. Everyone was outside already. They were waiting for her. Draco was waiting for her. She took careful steps. Slow steps. To him.

Ginny opened the door at the end of the hall and bright sunlight poured into the empty hallway. She saw the door to the dressing room ajar and ran down to check it. Hermione was gone.

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><p><strong>AN**: Thank you so much for reading, and don't forget to review!

—Abbs


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